


Lichtenburg

by Nymm_at_Night



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: (yes), Angst and Porn, Electrocution, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Illustrated, Jeremy has Issues™, M/M, Michael's bedroom is in his basement fyi, Post-Squip, Scars, The boys are both masses of conflicting emotions hurtling down a hill, but noone acknowledges it, if two pines fall in a forest, is it really gay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-15 21:51:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11239968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymm_at_Night/pseuds/Nymm_at_Night
Summary: Michael tests his boundaries.





	Lichtenburg

**Author's Note:**

> This was very self-indulgent.

Michael sighed contentedly, rolling his shoulders as he stretched out over the bean bag, his chin on one end with his legs flopped uselessly out behind him. The stiffness in his spine and the tightness behind his eyes from staring at the T.V. screen all night were comforting in their familiarity, as was the sight of Jeremy hunched over his Nintendo 64 controller. He was biting his tongue in concentration, virtual blood splashes casting him in red light. It was almost like the SQUIP had never happened, save for the distance between their bean bags and the box of blunt wraps that lay untouched on top of the T.V. set. After the party, joints had tasted too much like gypsum-smoke and since the play, the high had felt too much like losing control. The weed had been offered, declined and discarded in a corner.

Michael laughed as Jeremy’s character turned a corner on screen and was immediately buried in a hoard of enemies. Jeremy growled and glared at his controller like he was about to put it through the screen. Fortunately, he chose to set it down next to his bean bag, flopping back on the soft plush and rubbing his eyes.

Michael stared hawkishly as Jeremy’s shirt rode up, exposing a band of ghost-pale skin. He’d seen Jeremy shirtless, pantless, and pretty much every state of undress short of full blown nudity– a twelve year friendship meant that– but it had been months since he’d been near Jeremy, let alone thinking straight on the rare occasions it happened. This was the first video game night in a long time. Jeremy was still ganglier than a spider – where Michael had grown out, Jeremy had just kept on going  _ up _ – but working out had softened the sharp, bony angles of his shoulders and knees, and evened out his proportions _.  _ Any sign of actual muscle definition on him would have been unthinkable before the SQUIP, but there it was. Michael would never admit it, but it would have been nice to see him so fit, if he hadn’t known why his friend had put on the muscle. 

Jeremy grumbled, flipping over to look at Michael, who quickly averted his gaze. “I swear, that copy has a glitch in it. I’ve checked everywhere, and nobody else has just had a fucking mosh pit of demons spawn by the exit.”

Before the SQUIP, Jeremy never cussed, but that, like so many things, had changed. Michael pushed the thought aside, rolling his eyes fondly, and took a swig of his soda. “Or, you could just be in denial that you suck at this. The mosh pit’s a surprise the  _ first _ time, not the fifth.”

Jeremy huffed, rolling over to face his back to Michael. “God, way to show hospitality Michael. I come into your house, drink your Mountain Dew, play your videogames, and sit on your bean bags, and this is how I’m treated? Shameful.”

Silence hung in the air as Jeremy waited for banter that never came. “Dude, you still with me? If you conked out on the floor again–”

Jeremy made to roll over, but Michael’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. “Jeremy. What are those?”

Jeremy craned his neck to look back at Michael with wide eyes. “What are you... I mean–”

“Your back.”

Jeremy shot up, pulling his washing machine-faded Yoshi shirt down to cover his torso, but it was too late. Michael had seen it.

“What are you talking about, it’s just my back. Same as always.”

Normally Michael would have rolled his eyes and gone back to razzing his friend– he wasn’t sure if either of them had earned back that ‘best’ yet– but the hollow, haunted look in Jeremy’s eyes stopped him. Instead, he rested a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. “Let me see them.”

Jeremy’s face fell, and he slowly stripped the shirt off like it was a command, not a request. Michael stayed quiet as Jeremy turned to show him the scars that spread across his back like a tangle of vines. The red lines snaked out in jagged branches from a mottled purple patch the size of a hockey puck a couple inches above the waistband of his jeans, and a thicker stripe of red snaked beneath it like a tap root, smaller lines feathering out in tiny fractals. It reminded Michael of the stupid computer generated graphics they put on math textbooks in a vain effort to make them look ‘fun’. A million years ago they had laughed at them, high in his basement, but they seemed a lot less entertaining in this context.

Michael felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice down the back of his shirt. Shivering, he shook his head and tried to compose himself. The way the marks twisted across his back, it was almost like–

“Lightning. I mean, I think I watched a documentary with these– something about lightning strikes or aliens or something?”

Michael must not have done a very good job keeping a straight face, judging by the way Jeremy’s shoulders stiffened. “Yeah, something like that.”

Michael felt a lump in his throat. Jeremy only sounded like that when he was talking about the SQUIP. He hadn’t explained much about the specifics of it– he’d mentioned the thing constantly talking to him, instructing him, insulting him, forcing him to do things, but nothing more. Michael hadn’t minded then. The apology had been emotional enough without dredging up bad memories, and he was more than happy to ignore their months apart. It had been more important to go back to normal, or at least as close to it as they could get after that.

Clearly, he’d been wrong. 

“What did it do?”

Jeremy leaned back against the end of Michael’s bed, staring at the water stains on the ceiling. The space between them was palpable, and Michael felt a lump in his throat. A year ago, he’d be able to tell exactly what was going through Jeremy’s head, but now? It was an enigma.

“After the play, they took everyone to the hospital, remember?”

“You got to ride in the ambulance, because you were the special-est boy. And having a seizure or something.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes, and a ghost of a smile flitted across his face. Michael felt the weight on his chest lessen for a moment, but then the smile was gone, and the pressure on his sternum was back. 

“They saw the mess on my back, and did an examination, and they,” Jeremy paused, picking at the loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “They found something. Little metal chip by my spine, but they said it wasn’t doing anything anymore, and surgery that close to my nerves was more likely to paralyze me than help.”

“And it was doing…” Michael felt like he should reach out to touch him, comfort him, anything, but there were too many missing moments between them. “That to you?”

“Yeah. Something about ‘electro-stimulated spinal conditioning’, or whatever.” Jeremy put up the air quotes tiredly. “It shocked me whenever I fucked up.”

Before, Michael would have taken the out, let it rest, and gone and grabbed them both a bottle of Pepsi, or Mountain Dew if the mood was particularly grim. He would have offered Jeremy the coveted Player One controller, and let the night fade back to something like before, the elephant in the room ignored for another evening. Instead, he took the plunge.

“What do you mean?”

Jeremy didn’t look at him, instead sticking out his fingers like he was going down a grocery list. “Dumb shit. Didn’t put enough into the lines it fed me, embellished too much, thought about sex–” 

Michael winced. No wonder Jeremy had seemed so high-strung.

“Usually when I slouched, wouldn’t fuck Chloe–”

Michael felt his face go red, and the words were out before he could even think. “What?!”

“She was drunk and jealous of Brooke, and the SQUIP kept telling me to ‘upgrade’. Something about banging my way through every girl in Middleborough being only way to get Christine,” Jeremy said, and let out a shaky breath. “Did something to my legs when I wouldn’t, and I couldn’t move them at all. If I hadn’t had some of her booze…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was…” Michael fished around for a word to describe  _ that _ , his hands crushing his mostly empty can of coke. “Hurting you like that.”

“Yeah, well, I deserved it.”

Michael couldn’t look him in the eye at that. Better to keep the conversation going, or they would never get whatever  _ this  _ was out in the open. “Are you… doing okay?”

Jeremy shrugged. “Better than I was with it. I keep doing stupid shit though.”

He must have caught concerned look on Michael’s face, because he put up his hands, backpedaling. “Not like, hurting myself or anything. Just... expecting it to come back. When I’m looking at the mirror, I keep feeling like it's going to pop up and start lecturing me with that stupid Keanu Reeves face, talking about how that pimple is going to doom me to a life of being shunned for being such a fucking slob.”

“Matrix Keanu or Bill and Ted Keanu?”

“Matrix. Thank God.”

Michael nodded approvingly. “Go on.”

“It’s just stupid stuff like that. Waiting for it to tell me do something so it can improve my chance of success by point-oh-two percent, or acting like it can still hurt me. But I’m fine. Really.”

Michael wished the confidence in Jeremy’s voice matched his expression.

“I mean, would be a shit ton better if it hadn’t wrecked my back on the way out.” He grimaced, and continued on in a stupid voice that was half way between HAL 9000 and an extra from  _ Grease _ , flapping his fingers like he was wearing an invisible hand puppet. “Jeremy, if you show the scars to Chloe’s beta and if you don’t fuck up my sob story about how your back looks like a piece of fried meat because you injured it rescuing kittens, there’s a fifty percent chance that she’ll take you out on a pity date! Furthermore, if you manage to hide the fact that everything about you is  _ so fucking suicidally terrible _ , there’s a thirty percent chance the target female will give you a pity fuck, whether you like it or not. Better yet, only a forty percent chance that I’ll have to upload everyone you love to a  _ goddamn _ hivemind to make up for the fact that  _ NOONE WOULD EVER WILLINGLY BE AROUND YOU! _ ”

Jeremy slammed his palm down on the cement floor like he was trying to kill the SQUIP via hand puppet, and Michael jumped back like he’d been shocked. Gingerly, Jeremy lifted his hand off the floor and winced. Michael could already see the faint traces of purple blooming at his knuckles. When Jeremy looked up, there were shadows behind his eyes.

Shit.

Michael grabbed Jeremy’s bruised hand and led him into a hug, letting his friend’s head rest on his shoulder. Stiffly, Jeremy let his arms drape around Michael’s stomach, and he returned the favour. Despite everything, Michael smiled.

Absentmindedly, he ghosted a hand down Jeremy’s spine, feeling the ridges of his vertebrae glide under his fingertips. The skin was warm under them despite chill in the air, and he traced the edges of the scars, kneading at where the skin went rough and hard. He was lucky, Michael thought. His scars had always healed bumpy and raised like drops of candle wax, but Jeremy’s were just shallow, scaly depressions. He spread his fingers over the center of the blemish, and Jeremy’s breath hitched. Michael felt a spark of pride at the way he made Jeremy bury his head in the fabric of Michael’s sweater, breathing deeply into his shoulder.

Something hard poked at Michael’s thigh. 

“Hey, uh, not for nothing, but you uh…” Michael pointed discreetly.

Jeremy glanced down and went beet red, scrambling back. “Shit. I am so sorry!”

“It’s all right, really! If I got weird about you popping boners at inappropriate times, this friendship would have ended a long time ago.” 

Jeremy looked unconvinced.

“A  _ really  _ long time ago.”

Jeremy crossed his legs.

Michael scratched the back of his neck and tried to keep his eyes on Jeremy’s face.

The background music from their forgotten videogame started another loop.

“Do you… uh, want to take care of that?” Michael hazarded, breaking the ice with all the subtlety of a dropped cinder block, and jerked his head toward the door.

Jeremy didn’t meet his eyes, just shuffled his legs and concentrated on picking at the hole in the old bean bag chair where the pellets had begun to leak out. He muttered something under his breath, but Michael couldn’t quite hear.

“I didn’t catch that.” 

“I said that that isn’t going to happen, okay!” Jeremy threw up his hands. “Everytime I try, all I can think of is that asshole bitching at me and getting zapped, and that kinda has been ruining the whole thing! Just ignore me and let me try to focus on like, baseball or beanie babies or something.”

Michael sighed, watching Jeremy flop back on the bean bag, his back to him. The mark on his lumbar glared judgmentally at him, an angry eye in mottled red and purple. Michael rolled his eyes at it and considered his options.

He could just let this go. Jeremy would probably just fall asleep on the bean bag, and Michael either would crash without someone to talk to or wouldn’t have the heart to wake him. Then he’d be awkward and stiff and cold in the morning. Jeremy probably would want to forget the whole thing, and the distance would be back. 

Then again, he had already thrown any boundaries to the wind, and the way Jeremy’s pupils were blown wide, and how his neck had gone red under his freckles was oddly enticing. It wasn’t like  _ Michael _ had to get off on this, and in his experience Jeremy had never been particularly discerning when it came to jacking off, and fuck if he didn’t look like he needed it. Besides, they were so close to how things had been. If he didn’t chase that warmth and familiarity, it might never come back. He couldn’t lose Jeremy again. 

Besides, there was no way in hell he was going to let the last time Jeremy got some involve either getting electrocuted or a drunk Chloe. It was a matter of principle.

“I could give you… y’know. A hand.”

Jeremy gaped at him. “You want to do what?”

Michael pursed his lips. It wasn’t that he wanted to fuck him, but it wasn’t like he was just going to give  _ Jeremy  _ blue balls and wait out an awkward hardon– that wasn’t going to help fix things  _ at all _ . “I mean, after our touching emotional bonding session, I’d be a real dick to just let you sit there like that. And I mean, if you can’t deal with it yourself…”

Jeremy twisted the drawstring of his pajama pants nervously, looking everywhere but Michael. He didn’t look totally averse though, just hesitant. Michael wondered if that even counted as good sign in this scenario. 

“Do you want to? I mean…” Jeremy sidestepped actually saying it by making a loose fist and flicking his wrist a few times in a gesture universally known as ‘wanking’.

Michael rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. This was a conversation he never thought he’d be having, let alone at three AM in his basement. “I want to help or, at least make you feel better. I mean, it’s okay if you don’t want to– I totally get it.”

Something in Jeremy’s frame changed, and the tension eased out of his shoulders. “No. That sounds nice.”

Michael felt a smile spread across his face, and he wasn’t quite sure why. “Yeah, gimme a sec.”

Jeremy awkwardly clambered onto the bed, a rickety twin Michael had had since he was about five, with the springs to match. Michael stretched, cracking his knuckles, and fished around in the crowded drawer of his nightstand. 

“You got any condoms?”

“Somewhere in here, why?”

“I just…” Jeremy swallowed thickly, covering his hand with his mouth and looking everywhere but Michael. “The SQUIP, it… I’m not really sure where I’ve been, after all that.”

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

Michael shook his head, trying to chase away the clammy feeling on the back of his neck as he pawed through the drawer. There they were– from under the National Geographic magazine, retainer case and the spare pack of tissues, he produced a square foil packet and a half-empty plastic bottle of thick, pink liquid.

“Hope springs eternal!” Michael said a bit too brightly, and Jeremy took the lube from him, skeptical.

“Randy’s Cherry Pop lube? Really?”

“I got it for free from Spencer's last time I stocked up on Red. I think they were supposed charge me, but they just seemed glad I was clearing out the old inventory.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Way to really crank up the atmosphere here. Discount lube and talking about shitty malls.”

“Strong words for someone who ate a robot last time he wanted to get laid.” For a moment he thought he'd finally gone too far, but then he realized that that wheezing wasn’t Jeremy hyperventilating. He was laughing.

Michael didn’t think twice about it, a worrying trend that night that he’d fuss over if he wasn’t currently pressing his lips to Jeremy’s. He didn’t push him away like he half-expected him to, instead making an absolutely  _ sinful _ noise, putting a warm hand on Michael’s shoulder. Good. Michael didn’t want to just be some asshole who skipped straight to the fucking, like this was some great ordeal. If he wanted Jeremy to enjoy this, the guy deserved some foreplay.

Michael would feel worse about his inexperience if Jeremy wasn’t also floundering. He might have been a mess of clacking teeth and horrible aim, but at least they were two of a kind. Michael let his face drop to Jeremy’s neck, and began pressing his lips against the sensitive skin. He winced as he felt his teeth scrape hard against it, but Jeremy’s hand on his neck just tightened like a vise, pulling him closer. That was all the endorsement he needed, and Michael dropped down to Jeremy’s clavicle, rasping his teeth against it. Jeremy’s nails scrabbled against Michael’s shoulder, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Michael fumbled blindly for Jeremy’s free hand, running his fingers down the the tattoo on Jeremy’s forearm that mirrored his own, and laced their fingers together, savoring the familiar warmth. He moved his other hand from Jeremy’s shoulder blades to the bones of his hips, and using his new-found leverage, he pushed Jeremy back against the headboard of the bed, straddling his legs.

Michael pulled away and cautiously looked up at Jeremy. Michael could see how red his face had gone even in the low light, and his hair was a mess, cowlicks sticking up at odd angles. He was staring at Michael like he’d hung the moon and stars, and was also about to jerk him off. Michael felt his pulse trip into double-time, and he yanked off his shirt, fumbling with the sleeves in a half–hard jumble. 

Michael bit his lip, and twisted at the waistband of Jeremy’s pants. The elastic of his underwear rose just above it, and Michael felt something twist in his stomach. Making out with him was one thing. This would make it real.

The warmth vanished. The basement was suddenly freezing again, and Michael felt exposed in every sense of the word.

Jeremy must have noticed his hesitation, and he slid his hand from the base of Michael’s neck to his shoulder, thumb massaging the skin in tiny circles. “You cool with this?”

Michael let out a shaky breath. Jeremy’s fingers were like embers, too hot and close. He wouldn’t be surprised to find burn marks in the morning, but that was what he wanted, right? That familiarity was back, Jeremy was an open book, and it was all, beautifully, terrifyingly  _ real _ , and Michael was fucking it up by having a stupid staring contest with Jeremy’s  _ dick _ .

“Michael, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.” 

The room was filling up with ice water, and Jeremy looked so damn concerned, brow furrowed, and this wasn’t what he wanted at all. Michael rubbed at his arms like it would make the goosebumps go away.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Michael shook his head. He  _ had  _ to. “I’m… I’m good. Now lie back and think of England.”

Jeremy frowned. “...Never make me think of Queen Elizabeth when I’m hard ever again.”

Michael snorted and pulled Jeremy’s pants down to his knees, letting Jeremy kick them the rest of the way off. Biting his lip, Michael gingerly put his hands on the smooth skin of Jeremy’s hips. Huh. They had freckles on them, just like his shoulders, and he could see where the scar snaked down his right leg to ground out the circuit.

Gently, he slid Jeremy’s boxers to around his thighs, and the gasp Jeremy made when his cock sprang free went straight to Michael’s dick. He groped for where the condom had fallen between the sheets, but Jeremy found it first. Michael watched as he tried to tear it open with his hands before grumbling and ripping the foil open with teeth. Michael wasn’t sure if it was anxiety or something else that made every second watching Jeremy fiddle with the latex unbearable. He let out a sigh of relief as Jeremy finished stretching it down to the base. 

Michael grabbed the bottle of lube and poured some out on the palm of his hand, smearing it around. He crinkled his nose. The sickly sweet smell of cherry cough syrup explained why it had been free.

Tentatively, he took Jeremy’s dick in hand and gave it an experimental stroke. Jeremy’s hips bucked, and Michael put his free hand on the curve of his pelvis, holding him still against the headboard. Jeremy leaned back, head knocking gently against the headboard, and he let out a contented hum. 

“Good?”

“Yeah.”

It took him a minute to adjust, but Michael quickly found the rhythm. It wasn’t so different from doing it to yourself, if you thought about it, just a different angle, different equipment, but the same game– start at the base, not too tight, twist your wrist at the tip, rinse and repeat. Jeremy carded a hand through Michael’s hair, and he found himself leaning into the touch despite himself.

Michael picked up the pace, and shivered as Jeremy’s nails raked up his back. He gasped when Jeremy’s fingers twisted in his hair and Michael gripped a little too hard, earning a low groan from Jeremy. Michael flicked his eyes back up. The way Jeremy shuddered with every stroke was intoxicating, and Michael felt something warm in his gut tighten at the sight of him sprawled out on the bed, helpless, holding onto him like he was  _ everything _ . He’d done this, and that sent a fresh wave of anxiety and arousal through him. 

Michael redoubled his efforts, thumbing the head of Jeremy’s cock in little circles. He could tell he was close. Jeremy was saying something unintelligible, getting louder and needier with each pump, and the hand on Michael’s waist was tight enough that the knuckles had gone white.

With a low whine, Jeremy came. Michael lazily stroked him as he rode it out, only letting go when Jeremy clumsily pawed at his hands. Shivering, he took the condom off, dumping it in the wastebin next to the bed. He looked absolutely  _ wrecked _ , leaning bonelessly against the headboard, eyes dazed and half lidded, breathing heavy, a daisy chain of hickeys and bite marks trailing down his neck to his torso.  _ Shit.  _ He’d forgotten how easily Jeremy bruised, but his friend– Lover? Fuck-Buddy?– either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he cast around in the nightstand drawer for the tissues. As he pulled himself off of him, Michael distantly thought about lending him one of his turtlenecks in the morning. 

Jeremy was looking at him almost expectantly, and Michael couldn’t quite meet his eyes. He fished around for something, anything to say. “So, do you feel better?” 

_ God dammit. _

Jeremy sat up, rubbing his eyes and trying in vain to smooth down the mess that was his hair. “Y–yeah. Much. Thank you. Do you want me to uh, return the favor?”

Michael shook his head. He felt like the room was spinning. Jeremy’s expression was unreadable.

“Can I just sleep up here then?”

“Sure. I’m going to wash up and grab you some pants.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes fondly. “I’ll take care of it. I  _ refuse _ take after my dad.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m getting up anyways.”

Jeremy nodded, and watched him slip off the bed, the old spring mattress groaning in protest. Michael crept up the stairs, praying no one had decided to grab a late–night glass of water– the last thing he needed was to explain to his Mom why he was covered in sweat and lube at this hour. He padded down the hallway, not even bothering to turn on the light, took the last door on the left, and Michael was in the bathroom, by himself.

He pushed the faucet handles with his elbow, trying his best not to get the counter messy. The water was too hot, but he stuck his hands under the faucet anyways, staring his reflection dead in the eye. He hardly recognized himself like this, glasses knocked askew, thin, red nail marks springing from his shoulders to trail down his back, and dark patches on his waist and the base of his neck where Jeremy had held on too tight.

He lost the staring contest, turning his back on the mirror, and tried not to think to hard about what this  _ meant _ . The red marks left by long fingers pressing into his skin, Jeremy in his bed, the condom in the trash, the way his pants felt two sizes too small from groping his  _ male _ friend, the fact he’d probably doomed any chance of reigniting their friendship, those were all problems for tomorrow-Michael. Right-now Michael just had to wash up, throw a pair of fresh pants at Jeremy, and crash for the night. Michael sighed and looked down at the tent in his pants. He didn’t trust himself to do anything like this.

Well, it wasn’t like there was any SQUIP stopping  _ him _ from dealing with that problem.

**Author's Note:**

> A super special thank you to left-uncovered, who is a phenomenal writer who helped me beta this and make it legible! Go check out their work because it is pretty flipping amazing- great characterization, pacing and dialogue. It's the full package!
> 
> She is also the sole reason I didn't put the line "Jeremy's dick was heavy in Michael's hands, like the weight of his life choices," in, so do what you will with that information.
> 
> Thanks for reading! (I live for feedback.)


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